The Crazy Years
by ifshepromisedyouheaven
Summary: Brittany and Santana meet during the roaring twenties. Both women face different challenges in both their feelings and the rapidly changing culture of Chicago during these crazy years.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: I have started a new story, featuring Brittany and Santana, set in Chicago in the 1920's. I have done some research, but please pardon any incorrect information. Just a little prologue to start you off, an actual chapter to come soon. Thanks for reading!  
**

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_Prologue:_

Chicago, 1924

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I still wasn't sure I could manage this, and stepping off the train, I fought the urge to run back to Ohio, back under the comforting, secure skirts of Mother, back under tradition and familiarity. Instead I lifted the thick material of my skirt from under my boots, and moved forward. I had worked hard to become one of the first, few women, accepted into St. Rose's College and knew that with Mother's warm touch, also came her dutiful insistence on subservience, and with Father's gentle laugh, the confines of convention, trapping and boxing.

Repeating my new mantra, "I will be my own person," I stepped into the throes of Chicago, eyes opened wide, mind opened wider. This would be a new life, a new world, a new beginning, after all these were the "crazy years", and I was not going to miss a minute of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading! **

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Chapter One:

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There were four of us, the first four women to attend St. Rose's college, all sharing a small apartment six blocks from the campus. As I slowly made my way up the steps, I couldn't help but imagine what my life would be like for the next four years, if it would be a struggle or a breeze, joyful or scary, boring or exciting. Settling on a mix of all of the above, I hoped the girls on the other side of the door would help me weather the storm, and resigned myself to knocking, meeting them, and starting this adventure.

"Hello, I'm Miss. Santana Lopez," I chimed, as the door opened.

"Quinn," said the woman, as she opened the door wider, for me to enter, "We're in the parlor."

As Quinn led me to the parlor, I glanced quickly at my surroundings, but was immediately drawn to the woman who seemed so brusque, yet equally benign. Her hair was long, like mine, a rarity, I noticed in this city, her dress falling just below her knees. She was beautiful, in a generic way, and I could imagine her at ease both in the library and the speakeasy.

"This is May," Quinn said, as she pointed around the room, to the women sitting casually on the couches, "Grace, and Sarah."

Each of the girls gave a little wave as Quinn passed over them and I nodded my head in hello.

"This is Santana," Quinn elaborated before seating herself next to the girl she introduced as Grace. "Tell us about yourself."

"Um," I mumbled, uncertain, as I hovered in the doorway, gripping my gloves in my hand, my suitcase at my feet. "I come from a small town in Ohio, haven't really been anywhere else."

I paused and Sarah nodded, compassionately, as if she understood the woes.

"Well, welcome," she added, "Classes don't start for another week, so we're all just gettin' to know everybody and the city."

"Come sit," May added and I stepped uneasily away from my suitcase, perching on the edge of a flowered seat, glancing around, before stopping on a radio, squared into a corner.

"Oh, yeah, we just got that," said Sarah, as she turned the nobs, and a small static filled the air, before the melodic rise of a sweet voice. "All the rage these days, huh?"

I nodded, having never actually seen a radio before, straining to hear the soft voice, over the hum of the machine.

_This is Brittany Pierce, with the latest weather announcements for the Western Chicago area…_

"Would you like to join us?" May asked, her bob of red hair tilting with her head, as she looked at me quizzically.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"We were planning to go out dancing tonight. Would you care to come, see Chicago at night?" she repeated.

"Sure," I nodded, eager to see the city, but reluctant to go dancing, an area I had a considerable lack of experience. But I nodded again, with purpose. Was I not here to learn and see? To explore? To be my own person?

Later that night, I unpacked; carefully slipping my dresses and slips into the bureau I was assigned, running my hand over them. It wasn't that long ago, I had abandoned the corset, and I was still uneasy, feeling vulnerable and under-dressed. But I picked my prettiest dress, slipping it over my head, adjusting its waist, as the ends brushed against my lower calves. I fixed the curls in my hair. My stomach churned and rumbled. I felt this tug of war between apprehension and adventure, was never going to end, and I might as well get used the rocks of tension residing low in my belly.

I met the girls downstairs, and followed them dutifully through the streets, barely lit with the newest electrical technology, and into a small building. Crowded along the edges of the establishment were booths filled with men and women, laughing and talking loudly. Quinn, the implicit leader of our group, walked quickly to an empty table, before placing her coat on the bench and heading straight for the dance floor in the center of the room. I quickly slid into the booth, my fingers clutching my jacket to myself, and watched with awe, as she grabbed a man, and began waltzing.

I didn't pay much attention to the conversations May, Grace, and Sarah, had around me. I was too busy and didn't they care about all the noise and bustle around them? The men on the stage, so lovingly playing their instruments to the crowd. And the crowd, men and women so carelessly happy, their laughter bubbling over and out of the establishment. I'd never seen so many people without a care, without thought, just being.

I was slowly becoming warm, the abundance of laughter and bodies crowding the air I was breathing. I was reluctant to let go of my jacket, a final layer of protection around me, against this new world. While there was nothing immediately threating about the alien way, I felt uneasy, a bug amidst all of these birds, as though I might just be gobbled up. With mumbled apologies, I pushed myself out of the booth and out the door, shutting the door quickly, to not let anything unknown leak out of this foreign place.

I took quick gulps of fresh air, leaning against the building, imagining the quiet hometown I knew, the timid and innocuous men and women who idly chatted, laughing quietly as though it were a hiccup to be contained, not the loud guffaws coming out of this building.

"Cigarette?" came a soft, but strong, voice beside me, and I let out a quick high-pitched squeak.

"Sorry," she laughed casually, holding a cigarette out for me.

I shook my hand in dismissal and watched as she pulled the cigarette back into her pack. She had blond hair cut just above her shoulders, curled lightly, around her pale face.

"I'm Brittany Pierce," she said as she extended her hand.

"Santana," I responded, letting her grip my hand, before letting it fall loosely to my side. I glanced at her again, the name sounding familiar but untraceable.

"New here?" Brittany questioned as she looked into my eyes, scanning me up and down. I looked down at my dress and felt a nervous tingle in my throat, oddly wondering if she approved and why that mattered to me. Without knowing why, I felt that her opinion mattered, that she was someone important in unidentified ways.

I nodded, elaborating, only slightly, with details of St. Rose's.

"That's exciting. Are you nervous?" Brittany asked, her cigarette long burned down, her cheeks flushed from the warm chill of September.

I let out a loud laugh of agreement, before turning my head embarrassingly at the outright and untraditional response. But, Brittany just laughed and nodded in agreement.

"I without a doubt could not be more nervous," I elaborated, gaining a small scrap of confidence, at Brittany's seemingly earnest interest.

"But also excited," she said without question, as if she knew. I nodded yes, and smiled.

"Well nice to meet you, Santana. And good luck," Brittany nodded as she opened the door, and headed back inside, just as Quinn and the girls came out.

"There you are," May said kindly, as I kept an eye on the door where Brittany just entered, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, chopping Brittany, up to a new way I was soon to learn here in Chicago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the kind reviews for the last chapter, I love knowing what you think. And thanks for reading!**

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My first weeks in Chicago felt like a tornado, all types of new feelings and old, thrown up and churned together, in a not altogether unpleasant storm. We began classes, and I felt considerably let down. We sat in the back row of our classes, dolls meant to illustrate the modernism of the college, but not expected to speak. While I quickly lapped up the knowledge, I wanted to be a participant of my education. But I needn't be, for St. Rose's I need to only look the collegiate part.

I quickly learned that the majority of my time would be spent with the girls. May and Sarah were kind and we quickly took together, like playmates in a schoolyard. Grace and Quinn also banded and the house felt divided, but equally amicable. For the most part we lived a boring, monotonous life. We went to classes, read the books on the syllabus, learned new things about each other, studied hard, explored the city, and breathed in and out.

Several nights a week, we braved the chilly Chicago air, Quinn and the girls to dance, me to take in the people and sights. One night several weeks in to the school year, I noticed the woman I had met the first time we came to the club. While I hadn't thought about her since our last meeting, now that I saw her again, I wasn't quite willing to stop watching her. Her blonde hair was curled at the bottom, resting on her shoulders, framing her face, her lips applied with bright rouge. I'd only ever heard about woman wearing color on the lips and face, but was pleasantly surprised and thought the bright color harmonized with her well. I remembered cheerful kindness and seeming interest, and in a rare moment of bravery, I excused myself and went to say hello.

"Hi. Brittany?" I asked, shyly, as I held out my hand.

"Yes, Santana, isn't it?" she said, looking up at me with kind eyes, taking my hand in hers, squeezing, perhaps for too long.

I nodded, dropping her hand, and sliding into the booth across from her, "I just wanted to say hello. Aside from the, um," I paused, slipping my hair behind my ear, wanting to appear smart and in control, "girls, I don't know many people."

"I'm glad you did," Brittany said, smiling at me. I couldn't quite make out the tone of her smile; it held kindness with just a hint of smugness, both flirty and polite. I felt a little incongruous, part of me liking the flirt she held with just a slip of the face, but most of me unsure, feeling like I might just fail the test she was putting forth.

"How were your first days of school?" she asked, her smile returning, as soon as she finished the sentence.

"Oh, good," I mumbled, waving my hand in the air, not wanting to explain that I was merely a formality at 's, a good faith gesture to women.

"Just good?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, looking down to the table, picking at it with my blunt finger nail.

Brittany looked at me, smiling gently, inquiring soundlessly.

"I just feel as though I could be learning more. We tend to be overlooked," I elaborated.

Brittany sighed sympathetically, "Just the women sitting in the back, looking pretty?"

I nodded my head yes, lifting my mouth in a sad smile. "I suppose it is a sacrifice, to be the first step. The world must move slowly. "

"Or it might get a belly ache," Brittany laughed, before continuing in a more serious note, "You're certainly paving the way, but I can understand the want for your college career to be authentic."

I smiled, feeling gentle warmth in my belly at being understood, and a small part of me wondered if it was being understood specifically by Brittany that felt so good. There was a silence, not entirely uncomfortable, but filled with something unidentifiable, to me at least. Brittany seemed to know all of her emotions, while I struggled to label how I felt. I envied Brittany's apparent awareness of herself, and wondered about how one develops that.

I pulled myself out of my reveries, and looked back up to Brittany who was studying me with gentle eyes.

"So, what do you?" I said, pulling myself away from her gaze.

"Oh, I work for a radio station."

"You do?" I questioned, surprised, but recalling the name simultaneously.

"Just the weather," Brittany said, dipping her head in a rare show of embarrassment. "But, I love it," she amended, smiling quickly.

"It does sound rather exciting," I conceded.

"It's not too exciting," Brittany said with a playful wink and a smile, "but I do fancy myself a star. And I did meet Billie once."

I nodded approvingly. "Well, you may be, kind of, in my boat," I questioned with a raise in my eyebrows, "I'm sure there aren't many women there."

Brittany nodded but added, "Don't worry, I make myself heard."

"All over Chicago, I presume," I joked.

Brittany let out a little laugh, the curls of her hair bouncing just barely. "Yes, all over Chicago. Well, maybe. My parents listen every day, so at least I know someone's listening."

"Did you grow up in Chicago?"

"Sure did. I don't know if I'll ever be able to leave. How about you?"

"Oh no," I said with a little dip of my head and a self-deprecating laugh, "Just got here a couple weeks ago. I've never been anywhere outside of my small town. I don't know that I've yet to be Santana Lopez, I've only ever been Maribel and George's daughter."

"Well, Chicago is a great place to start," Brittany said, with a decisive nod of her head. Brittany placed her hand over mine on the counter briefly, her palm leaving my skin warm for the short period. "Listen, I've got to go. But why don't you let me show you around?"

"Sure," I nodded, "I'd love that."

"Great, meet here Saturday, at eleven?"

I nodded, and smiled shyly as Brittany extracted herself from the bench gracefully, and headed to the door. As she exited the building, she turned around, yellow hair shining, and waved. I raised my hand in a timid gesture, excited and nervous for this Saturday.

I had only talked to Brittany twice, but still felt that our time together was special and that she was special. I assumed that it was because she was one of the few friends I've met in this new town, but knew that perhaps it was something more.


End file.
